


Once Upon a Winter in Dorado

by SomberCitizen



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Accidental Adrenaline Induced Boner, Angst, Emotional Baggage, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Oral Sex, Pity Sex, Riding, Smut, Vaginal Sex, more pity sex, not too graphic violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-08-30 03:35:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8516983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomberCitizen/pseuds/SomberCitizen
Summary: A chance encounter between two people in the winter of 2075.





	1. Cold Days, Warm Beds

 Lyudmila never liked the cold, despite growing up in it. She liked it even less now. Old battle wound would remember to hurt again and strange phantom pains would keep her up at night as the chill set in. She thought she could escape it by coming to spend the winter in Dorado, the city always had plenty of jobs to offer and keep her account full, but even here the temperatures had managed to drop low enough for her to need a thicker jacket. It seemed like the whole planet had decided to not let her rest. One day, one day, she’d retire to a tropical island, somewhere  where the temperatures rarely, if ever, fall under freezing, and she’d get a house near the coast line and a dog and spend the rest of her days sunbathing on the beach.

Walking through the streets on her way back from a job, she kept her hands in her pockets. It was a rather easy one really. Local gang wanted the leader of their rivals killed. She didn’t normally do assassinations like these, but they were willing to pay quite a few credits for his head, so she agreed. It didn’t feel very good though. She was used to doing this type of stuff, but before she had a purpose. Do the things others won’t for the safety of the public. Sure there were a lot of people who didn’t approve of her methods, some outright despised her, but in Blackwatch? They respected her there, some even looked up to her. She had friends back then. What was she now? Just another lowlife, making living harder for everyone. Doing dirty work for the underbelly. It angered her that in the end it looked like they were all right about her – a creature of violence, a soldier who can’t live without blood on her hands. Hairpin trigger, only good at killing – might as well get paid for it.  

She kicked a pebble to the side. Things were always so much better in Blackwatch. The nicknames never bothered her. The butcher, the bloodhound, the whatever else they had come up with this month. It never bothered her much that she was doing Overwatch’s wet work. Clean up that made her hair smell like burning flesh. Interrogations that would sometimes take days and leave her hands redder than a poppy. Taking care of certain people that didn’t fit in with the brass’ agenda. Disposing of documents. Blackmail. None of it mattered. Because at the end of the day she knew she could go to the common room and not one of the given looks would be judging. They all understood the dark under her eyes and the raw knuckles. They were all partners. Brothers and sisters. They were a family.

Then it all had to change. One by one, all of them started disappearing. Omar, and later Malik, fuck, and Kallista too – dead. Blackwatch agents rarely lived all that long, but it always took a toll on her, burying their empty coffins. Her and Gabriel standing there in that field of unmarked graves, giving their friends one last salute, a thanks for their service that no one but them was ever going to know about. They were ghosts before they had even passed.

Those that left, at first she marked them as traitors, quitters. Giving up when it got to the bone. When missions started getting harder and would weight down heavier. Mikael and Jesse leaving angered her the most. Now, looking back, she thinks that they were the smart ones. The ones that knew to leave the ship before its inevitable sinking. By the end of it all, she felt all but alone.

Dwelling on the past too much was never good. It always brought nothing more than pain.

 

Back in her motel Lyudmila dragged the only chair in the room and propped under the handle of the door. When did she get so paranoid? Sure Dorado had high criminal activity, but she was far more dangerous than any run of the mill gangster. Tossing herself on the bed, pulling off the mask, she remembered. There was always there threat of someone from back in day finding her. She had met a few on the road, but never tried to keep in contact, despite them asking her too. Mostly former Blackwatch, recruited young and still not grown enough. The King was dead and they were left lost, without guidance, not knowing whether they should run or set chase.  Lyudmila couldn’t face them. She felt like she had failed them, leaving in the last minute without even a goodbye. She didn’t deserve the trust they put in her. All she could do now, any time she saw those familiar faces, was to tell them to not look back. To not give in to nostalgia. _To forget us all._ Just like the others did.

Thoughts like these always kept her up at night. No matter how much she’d try to school herself to not think back, she always did, despite what she’d tell those kids. The past always had its way of sneaking back into her mind, like rain water through an old window during a storm.

She kicked off her boots to ground, too tired to actually get up and undress. The jacket went next and the armored vest followed. They fell on the shaggy carpet with a small thud and then it was all silent again. She turned on her side, eyes on the window, eyes on the door. Pulled a pillow close, holding it between her arms and under her head _. Like she was holding someone, like there was someone there with her._ God that was pathetic. What was wrong with her? Why would anyone want to be with her anyway?

She fell asleep with that though in her head, after another check on the exits.

 

It was always going to end this way. It had just been a matter of time, was what he was telling himself, bleeding out on the street. He thought about all the things he did wrong during the fight. Reloading too slow, not backing away when he was severely outgunned, using his last biotic field when he should’ve saved it. Damn. He really wasn’t a young man anymore. Everything had its expiration date and so did he, government guinea pig or not. He could feel it in his bones. The cold tiredness. His head was both light and heavy at the same time. At least he got to go out swinging, on his own terms. Relatively. It was not ideal, but there was nothing else he could do, except drag himself out of the light of the street lamps, so no one had to see his lifeless body on their morning commute. This was fine.

Were those footsteps coming towards him? He though no _, no one is coming for him._ But then there was noise on his left and someone’s fingers on his neck. There was someone there and they were checking for a pulse. He heard a sigh. Relief? He was not dead yet apparently. Unless this was all just a fever dream, his mind playing with him, teasing him, giving him false hope before the end.

Something hard and solid slid under his arm and he was being lifted from the cold grownd. He wanted to open his eyes, he tried, but his vision was muddled. Nothing but misshapen blobs of colour. He tried to look at his, perhaps, savior but there was nothing he could make out. Just a tall figure clad in dark materials. Nothing identifiable.

Gabriel? His hazy mind was trying to guess. Who else? Who else was always there when things got this bad? He tried to open his mouth, to speak, to ask, but nothing but a cough came out. The figure turned to him, their face obscured by darkness. He heard a voice, much softer than the one so familiar to him. Not Gabriel. Of course not. Gabriel wasn’t Gabriel anymore. It would never be him again.

His slipped in and out of consciousness for the next few minutes? Hours? Fuck, maybe even days, who knew. There was a constant pain in his side every time he woke up. His left leg too. And his arm. And his head. Damn, they had really done a number on him.

 

When he finally awoke for good his vision was better. The first thing he noticed was that he was lying on a bed in some kind of a motel. The second – he was covered with a thick blanket and was mostly naked under, with his arm, leg and torso tightly bandaged up. The third thing he noticed was that his mask was still on. Apparently his anonymous savior had at least some respect for privacy.

Speaking of them, where were they? He tried to get up, but sharp pain shot through his body, making him let out an involuntary grunt.

“Don’t.” that same, soft voice, came out of the bathroom. The tall figure followed. He looked them over. A woman, wearing a black thermal turtleneck and gray military pants. Black featureless mask disguising her face. So that’s why she hadn’t removed his. “You’ll open up your stitches and I barely managed to close the wound.” He noticed an accent now. It was slight, but still pretty distinguishable. Polish? Russian? Some kind of Slavic. Not what he expected to hear in Mexico.

“You a doctor?” he winced at the sound of his own voice. It sounded like someone had put his vocal cords through a wood chipper. Even more gravely than before.

“No, but I’ve been around doctors enough.” the woman shook her head and sat at the end of the bed. He gave her a closer look. Her top clung to her body tight enough that he could make out the hard muscles on her arms and stomach. Broad shoulders, solid build. There were also little wisps of silver hair spilling around her mask. Another thing caught his attention though – a clear outline of a pair of dog tags on her chest, where the fabric was tighter.

“You’re a soldier then?”

“Was.” She answered.

“Where’d you serve?”

“Different places.” Very descriptive, he chuckled in his mind.

“Russia?”

“How could you tell?” there was a definite laugh in her voice and he matched it with his own.

“Lucky guess.”

She chucked at that, and he attempted to do the same, but quickly remembered about the pain in his head and let out another groan.

“Don’t.”Again with that. “Your skull is..”

“My skull is shit.”

“Well, I was going to say fractured, but that works too.” She nodded and leaned over him to check over his head wound. She smelled like soap – floral and clean. The corner of his eye caught the sight of a white hoodie, stained with blood, spread out on a chair near the window, a bottle of some kind of cleaner by the foot of it. Clearly, whoever she was, this wasn’t the first time she had to get blood of her clothes.

“You do this a lot?”

“Do what?”

“Saving random old men from dying in back alleys.”

“You’re the first.” She laughed. “Your swelling is down.” She sat back on the bed, taking his bandaged hand and giving it a look over as well. “For a few hours I though you wouldn’t make it, honestly.”

“Hours? How long have I been out?”

“A day and a half.” Even with the mask on, he knew she was looking at him. Waiting for his reaction.

“Damn.” He sighed. Something gnawed on the back of his mind. He decided to ask. “Why didn’t you take me to a hospital?”

“You’re a wanted man.” So she knew who he was. That explained it. “I watch the news. I know who you are, Soldier 76.”

“And I know almost nothing about you.”

“Almost?” She sounded amused. Inviting him to tell her what he’d deduced.

“Well, you’re a soldier. A vet. ” he began, looking her over, looking over the room. “From the first Crisis most likely, judging by the gray of your hair. Probably enlisted young.” She let go of his hand, sat back. Listening to him describe her. “You know how to stitch up wounds, how to get blood of clothes. I should’ve guessed right away though, you still carry yourself like a soldier. War’s not over for you.”

“Is it for you?”

“Is it ever?” he laughed. It was bitter. She was right. It wasn’t, it was never over. There was always going to be a new crisis in need of fixing, a new danger that people needed protection from...

“What are you doing?” she had gotten up and taken out a sizeable syringe from her bag by the bed. “What’s that?”

“Healing injection.” She explained, pulling down the blanket to expose his shoulder. “Had to make sure you were out of the woods before I give it to you.”

“Didn’t wanna waste the good stuff on a dead guy?”

“Well yes.” There was only a slight sting when she pushed the needle in. Steady hands, she was probably a good shot. “And I had to bandage your hand well, otherwise the bone could’ve healed crooked. ”

“I see.” He nodded. As soon as the needle was out he started to feel the effects. Not as strong as the biotic fields, he’d still probably need a couple days to recover, but it was something. It felt good, really good though. The pain was gone and a strange sense of warmth began washing over him.

“It’s not going to fully heal you, this is more of a last resort pick-me-up, but it’s going to speed up the heeling process.”

“Thank you.” He realised just now, he hadn’t yet thanked her for saving his life.

“It’s fine.” There was a smile in her voice. He decided he liked that. “Um.. do you want me to leave for a few minutes?” His eyes snapped open and glanced up at her.

“Why?”

“Well..” her head nodded towards him. Then he saw it too.

“Ah, fuck..” Of all the times, his dick could have decided it wanted to play, this was probably the worst one.

“No, listen, it’s okay.” She began assuring him. “The injection contains adrenaline, I told you – last resort stuff. Usually the energy wears off while trying to stay alive, but…Well, sorry. Have fun.”

She started to make her way towards the door, when he, without thinking called after her.

“Wait.” He would slap himself if he didn’t think that would worsen his head trauma. “Come back.”

“Do you..want me to..” She looked back over her shoulder. There was that amusement in her voice again. Maybe she was into this whole situation. Plus she’d already seen him mostly naked. Not much to lose anyway, he decided to try his luck.

“It wouldn’t be much fun alone. ” he shrugged. “Just another weekend night.”

“You only have that kind of fun on weekends?”

“Do you wanna join me or not?”

She giggled. An honest to god giggle, even through the mask it came at him clear and crisp. If she wasn’t a six foot tall war veteran, he’d probably call her cute. He saw her unbuckle her belt, heard the zipper and then her pants were slipping down her thighs. She bent over, stepping out of them. Damn, she had a nice ass. Round and tight and covered in thin white cotton. Her legs were clad in over the knee knitted socks and she swung her hips walking towards the bag the end of the bed, where she took her sweet time folding those pants.

She was just teasing him now. Doing everything as slowly as she could. She stuck her hand up the back of her top and soon a neatly folded plain white bra joined the little pile of clothes.

When she began pulling her turtleneck up at a snail’s pace he felt his blood beginning to boil. He wanted, no.. needed to get his hands on her. Or her hands on him. Either way, at this exact moment he wanted nothing more than to feel her skin on his.

The top went over her head and stayed at her back like a ballet shrug.

“You cold?” he asked, his voice barely concealing his more than obvious arousal at the sight of her exposed body. Her breasts were just the right size to fit in his hands, and his earlier observation was right – tight, well defined abdominal muscles, she probably worked out a lot.

“It is winter.” She answered. She sounded so amused. Her hands going down her sides, to slowly pull away her white cotton panties.

“Well, come here and I’ll help you get warmer.”

She laughed again and then finally, finally made her way to pull off the blanket and straddle him on top of the bed. Her fingers glided up his stomach to the wound on his side and a shiver washed over him at the strange touch of cold and warm. Just now he noticed a certain shine coming out of her left hand – it was made of metal. That was probably the hard solid thing he remembered going under his arm to pull him off the ground.

“It’s healing nicely.” She mentioned. So offhand, like she wasn’t sitting naked on top of him.

“Good.” He couldn’t really wait anymore, his uninjured hand sliding up and down her thigh.

“Can we just..”

“Yes, we can.” She nodded. “But first – you just stay down. Don’t want you undoing all my hard work with the stitches, okay?”

“How can I say no to that.” His laugh however turned into a surprised moan, when her hand, the warm flesh one, came to pull his cock out of his underwear and give it a few slow, lazy strokes. Despite everything, he somehow found it in his mind that he should probably do something for her too. Leaving her thigh alone, his own hand went to explore between her legs. She was so remarkably responsive from the first touch, that he wondered exactly what was going on through her mind while she was undressing him to take care of his injuries.

“Anyone ever told you, you make really adorable noises?” he chucked when after a few minutes of exploration, she had leaned down, still mindful of where he was hurt, her metal hand clutching the bedpost, and soft little gasps and moans were coming out from behind her mask.

“Maybe.” Her voice sounded breathy, but still with that note of amusement. _Cheeky_ , he though, as his thumb was drawing circles over that sweet little spot, making her gasp slightly louder than before. As horny as he was at the moment, he still wanted to make sure she was too – otherwise he was just asking an even bigger favor from the woman who had saved his reckless old ass from dying.

He couldn’t help the smug grin that spread across his masked face, when he heard a crunch from up above his head. During her climax, amidst a slew of half-mumbled foreign words, her metal hand had bitten though the wooded bedpost.

“That was..” she began, trying to collect her breath. “Nice.” She settled on a word, before sitting up and letting his fingers slip away.  

“You warmer now?” another chuckle. He did promise her after all. She matched his laugh and pushed his shoulders into the bed, finding a place to steady herself away from his injuries, before slowly sinking down on him. They both let out satisfied moans in unison when she finally took him all the way in.

“Fuck..” he cursed. She was so warm and tight and wet, and then she started moving. Fuck, did she start moving. He couldn’t keep his good hand to himself, letting it roam all over her body. Her skin was so god damn soft, so much softer than he’d expected, despite the multiple scars – mementos of yesterdays battles, he was sure. Underneath the layer of silk, he could feel there was solid steel, her body was made for fighting, for endurance and he began to wonder in the back of his mind if he could even match her at the moment.

“Fucking.. fuck.” It was like all other words had left his vocabulary and that was the only one that remained. She was picking up her pace and doing something god damn near magical with her internal muscles that was making him want to be reckless again, disregard his injuries, flip them over and fuck her like that primal part of his mind was telling him to. Whoever the hell she was, right now he wanted her badly. He wanted her wild and violent and dirty, but the calmer, more reasonable part of his brain told him that he had to limit himself to slapping that tight ass of hers, grabbing a handful of it and carefully bucking up into her, trying to match her pace and not disturb his stitches.

He could feel himself getting closer. He had already picked up on her cues from warming her up –those cute little chocked out breaths, the way her walls would contract, her short nails digging into his shoulder, the metal hand - into the bedpost behind him, he knew she was getting pretty close as well. His fingers travelled the distance to her heat once again, alternating between rubbing and gentle tickles. The least he could do to thank her, at the moment, was to make her come a second time.

It didn’t take long for his careful ministrations to reach the desired effect. Her head came down to rest on the shoulder of his uninjured arm, the cold surface of her featureless black mask cooling off his burning skin. Loose silvery hairs tickling his exposed flesh. Her breasts pressing down on his chest, her skin still too soft that it had any business being and that same smell of floral soap now mixed with sweat and sex flooded his senses. If that hadn’t been enough to drive him over the edge, that quiet, needy breathless moan and the string of, untranslatable to him, Russian words that followed surely were and he came soon after, cursing loudly, not really having the mind to keep himself silent.

They stayed like this for a little while, both of them trying to catch their breaths, her leaning on him, still so fucking mindful of his injuries.

“God damn, Silver.” He broke the silence first. “That was something else.”

“Silver?” she laughed, sitting up and reaching to fix her little messy ballerina bun. “Like the horse?”

“Like your hair.” He corrected her with a chuckle to match. “How’d you even know about the horse? Thought you were Russian.”

“I had a friend once.” She got up from the bed, went to her bag, picked something out of it and headed for the bathroom. “He liked that kind of stuff.”

His gaze followed her, until she disappeared behind the door. The sight of his cum, lazily dripping between her thighs almost made him hard again but he was too tired. His eyes beginning to flutter shut.

“You won’t be insulted if I fall asleep, would you?” he called after her.

“No no, it’s okay, you need rest.” Her answer came through the door, before she came out, the top pulled down again and with a new pair of cotton panties on, baby blue this time. A wash rag in her hand. “Did I tire you out too much?” She came to the bed, cleaned him up, tucked him back into his boxers and threw the blanket over him again.

“You, damn..” he shook his head, a chuckle in his voice. “..as I said – was something else.”   

“Alright.” She giggled and after another trip to the bathroom, slipped on her pants again. “I’m going to get you and me something to eat. You rest up, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.” His good hand went to his forehead to give her a salute. She finished getting dressed up and after that exited the small room, leaving Jack to continue drifting off into slumber, wondering if he had actually died in that alley by that dumpster. This woman found him, nursed him back to health, fucked his corn-fed brains out and was now going to get him food. When, in these last few years, did he get so damn lucky? In the end though, he was too tired to question any of it and just gave himself over to sleep.


	2. Old Boy Blue

A couple of days had passed before he was well enough to leave the motel room. Silver, as he had decided to call her after no real name was given to him, turned out to not really be much of a talker. It was better than way – no complications. The days were spent with him mostly sleeping, trying to save his energy. Every time he’d open his eyes though, she’d be at the window, watching people pass by. Was there someone after her, or was it just your typical paranoia? He tried not to care, paranoid soldiers are a dime a dozen, but on the second day he heard her hum a tune, he could’ve sworn he’d heard somewhere before. Was she someone from his past? He never got to find an answer to that question. He left immediately after his injuries had healed up enough to not bother him too much.

 

Back into the routine. LumériCo, Los Muertos. Who the hell was Sombra? Patrolling the streets of Dorado every night, like he had been doing for a while now. He had managed to get his hands on some information on what the big corporation in town had been up to. It wasn’t much, nothing concrete that could seriously incriminate them, but was still something. Progress. Enough to make him feel less ineffective. At least for a while. Some part of him wished he could go to someone for help, anyone. But he made a choice that day and he had to live with it now. No matter how much, deep down, he missed those old days.

 

The old days. When he had his blue strike suit and his yellow hair. He was an idiot back then. An idealistic child, who though himself a hero. Reyes was right about him. He was probably still an idiot. Even with the age, with the scars and all the baggage he was carrying, old habits die hard – he still couldn’t let go of the blue. A blue jacket, blue eyes, a dying blue bird in his chest..

 

He thought about Silver often. About that song she had been humming that day. He couldn’t get the tune out of his head. He was sure he had heard it before, years ago. It wouldn’t let him rest. There was an unsettling feeling in his stomach. On the side, where’d patched him up. Those neat little stitches. Those steady hands, he kept imagining holding a weapon, those long slender fingers – pulling the trigger. Had she been Overwatch? Did she know who he was? Had that been the reason why she’d saved him?

 

He tried to think back, to remember anyone that could fit her profile. Tall, silver hair, Russian accent, metal hand. He felt guilty, when he thought about those days sometimes. He doesn’t remember the names and faces of half the people he should. He didn’t have much to go off of with her, but he still felt like she would’ve made a small impression. The lewd part of his brain thought that at the very least he would’ve remembered that round, tight ass of hers.

  


That night when we went to sleep, the thought of her kept gnawing on him. That song, the half-heard tune, had slipped into his dreams, changing the landscape of his usual black smoke filled nightmare. He had found himself in a field of burnt grass and blackened earth. With wine red skies and Silver’s voice humming along with the wind, the song calling him to follow.

 

He walked through the ash, looking around, searching for source of the familiar melody.  He moved slowly, carefully, alert. There was a voice in his head, barely heard above the song in the wind, telling him that he was behind enemy lines, that there was something, someone just out of reach, hidden in his peripheral vision. A shadow, two shadows, three, four… _Don’t lose your head, Jacky boy_ the voice whispered and he heard a crunch beneath his boot.

 

A skull. A big one, big cat – a leopard maybe. He quickly moved away from it, something chewing on his windpipe. Guilt? About what? He couldn’t remember. He looked around again – the ground littered with animal remains. Some half-rotten, some only bones. There was a vulture on his left, digging through the ash. A tiger ran out from behind him, jumping over the skeletal bird. _It knows something’s wrong._ He wanted to follow it, be smart, get away from this place, but the song kept calling him with a vicious howl. Words were coming in clear now. _Рота прёт наша, прёт.._

 

The air became thick, making him choke and spit out dust. His eyes were stinging, something pulling them peeled, _Keep them open, boy blue._ The voice piped in again, low and mocking and cruel. An achingly familiar timbre. One that he heard often in both bad and good dreams. So he was here too..

 

“I know it’s you!” he called out to the empty smoking horizon. “Where are you hiding!?”

 

It was like a shot had run out. All of the sudden, there was a loud growl and a large dog running towards him. He recognized the breed – collie, they used to have one just like it on the farm. No, this one was different, this one was missing patches of its fur. This one had its maw open, ready to snap at his flesh. Jack dodged the dog, it continuing to run far back, only to be toppled to the ground by a striding stallion. Blood oozing from the hooves pinning him down, staining his shirt, making it sticky and putrid. He felt like gagging, but his throat was too dry. There was something so human-like in the horse’s eyes, something that seemed so close, so familiar. If only he could remember…

 

There was something slithering up his leg, something wet and slimy. A skinless snake coiling around his calf, sunk it’s teeth in, filling him with venom.  He yelled out in pain, the vibrations tearing through his vocal cords, making him spit red. He tore the serpent of him, got up, his vision starting to blur. _Run,_ the voice told him and he did. He ran, not caring if he was being followed, he just ran. Those shadows in the corner of his eye, ever so present, goading him on _Run, boy blue_. He did, full speed, into the nothingness ahead. Until his legs started to give out and he sunk to his knees.

 

How long had he been running? Was it hours? Days? He couldn’t tell. There was no moon, no sun, no stars that could tell him the time. Only red skies and burned up earth, the cruel voice in his ear and that song. That god damn song, wouldn’t stop looping and pulling. _Напишите пару слов.._

 

“Stop it!” his fists collided with the ground, tiny pieces of bone embedding themselves into his flesh. It hurt, he didn’t care. He just wanted the song to go away. “What do you what? Who are you?”

 

The sound stopped for a moment. Enough for him to breathe a sigh of relief, before starting again, louder, more insistent. Calling him, pulling harder on that invisible leash. He got up again. From behind him somewhere a skeletal cat appeared and sat on the ground. Looking at him. Glaring daggers and his eyes began to sting even more. Was he crying? His hand went to wipe at the tears, but it came back down red. The cat seemed contend, walking away and he felt compelled to follow.

 

“Is it you?” he asked the cat. “Is that your song?”

 

The cat didn’t answer, just kept going further into the distance. The air was becoming even thicker, colder, filled with ash. And he was talking to a cat now. What was this place? He looked around for anything that might be familiar. A half burned, still smoking barn. The cat was leading him there. It looked like something he had seen before. Where had he seen that barn?

 

There was something at the entrance, laying on the ground, sleeping. The cat ran towards it, jumped over and pushed it with one paw. Jack inched closer. It looked gnarled, ribcage showing through the patchy fur. It was a dog, a big one. Doberman. It reared its head and even though it had no eyes, he knew it was staring at him. There were three stars carved on its forehead, where the skin had torn off, leaving exposed bone. He could hear the song even louder now. _Я верю в душу твою солдат…_

 

“It’s you, isn’t it?” he asked. The dog got up on its feet. “What do you want?”

 

No answer again. He didn’t know why he was expecting there to be one. He looked over the barn again. There was something so god damn familiar about it. His sights got caught on a bicycle propped on the wall. The blue paint had began to peel and the rubber handles were melted off, but he knew that bicycle. He had one just like it as kid. His eyes went wide. This was his home. The field where the cows fed. The barn..

 

“What have you done?” the realization hit him like a freight train. This was his home. What had happened here?

 

The dog came closer. The skin around its muzzle, peeled, making it look like it was smiling.

The cat followed it out, taking post by the door, leaving Jack to wander around the charred remains alone. There was a noise from the roof and he looks up. An owl landed on the lowest beam. Its feather falling and turning to smoke before hitting the ground, its eyes – red and with a cracked crown sitting crooked on its head. The dog’s bark comes loud from the outside, an order – _Get closer_. He does, his heart picking up a ruthless pace, threatening to break out of his ribs.

 

The owl takes flight again, circles around him before exploding into black smoke right in front of his face, tearing through his skin.

 

“Look at me.” The voice, the one that had been in his head ever since he came here, now came crisp. _“Look at me!”_ it’s deafening. He couldn’t, his head is down in his hands. He didn’t want to. He knew what he was going to see.

 

Somewhere from behind him, a hand came up to tear his own away, press them hard into his back. A second one, metallic, familiar, went to grip his jaw like a vice and turn him towards the entity up front.

 

He was right there. Made out of smoke and bone. Looking at him. Gloating. He had him right where he wanted him. In the ruins of his own home, with poison in his veins, his lieutenant forcing him to look. Jack tried to make an escape attempt, but it was like all his strength had left him. He felt tired, used up, weary..

 

The Reaper let out a small chuckle. Achingly familiar. His hand went up to glide a thumb over his throat.

 

“Заглянул в глаза ты смерти, гвардии сержант.” The Lieutenant whispered in Jack’s ear, so tenderly that he almost didn’t feel the knife at first. The serrated blade slid over his neck, pushing deep, severing muscle and grazing at the bone. She held him close, singing him the rest of the song, easing him down to the ground as he bled out.

 

Laying in her lap, he looked up at her. Black mask, wavy wisps of gray hair..

 

“Silver!” Jack cried out, opening his eyes. His hand went to the handgun hidden under the pillow. He knew he was alone, but just the touch of metal made him feel better. He carded his fingers through his hair, breathing hard, air coming out of his lungs in long drawn out rasps. He rubbed his neck, the pain in the dream had carried through.

 

It took him a few minutes to calm down and start thinking things through. The song, the barn, the Reaper, the lieutenant, Silver. That was her. The dog. That was who she was. He knew he had heard someone humming that tune before. That one mission in Siberia with Reyes’ team. She was his lieutenant. She was Blackwatch.

  
  


Ever since the revelation that Silver had been, not only a part of Blackwatch, but one if it’s highest ranking agents, Jack had began spending his night scouting the streets of Dorado in attempt to find her again. He couldn’t remember her name, but her reputation had definitely made an impression. The way Gerard Lacroix would talk about her, describing what prisoners would look like after she had been done interrogating them. The rumors about her harsh methods of training new Blackwatch recruits, and their absolute refusal the say anything bad about them, like they were scared she’s hear through the walls. The mission in Russia, when Reyes had insisted on bringing her along because _“She’s a local, Jack, she knows the terrain better than anyone.”_ He hadn’t seen much of her in the field, but felt her presence the whole way through – Ana’s headshots were never that grisly, the exit wounds were never that bloody.  

 

Everything he remembered about her made him believe that it had been no coincidence that she found him. Not when the last memory he had of seeing her was snapping the neck of an Overwatch agent during that fight five years ago. Her absolute loyalty to his former friend worried him. Like a faithful gun dog, that kind of loyalty died hard, if ever. He was sure there had to be a reason for her to save him. She had to have been planning something. Keeping him alive until _he_ gets his hands on him. Every single fiber of his being was telling him that there was some kind of a trap being set up for him. No way the woman he remembered would’ve saved him simply out of the goodness of her own heart.

 

The first night he went out looking for her, he went back to the motel. The room they had stayed in was occupied by someone else by now, but the records stated that a person by the name “Margarita Raskolnikova” had checked out of it the same day that he had left. Jack might not have been an expert in Russian literature, but even he knew where that name could’ve come from and it was definitely not her real one. But it was at least something that could lead him to her.

 

A few weeks into his search for Silver he found himself in an alley that he had heard a certain information broker liked to hang out. The man was thin and wiry, with a rather sizable tattoo of a hornet on the side of his skull. He was looking through things on his phone, every now and then absentmindedly taking a drag out of his cigarette. At first he didn’t seem to notice the soldier leaning on the wall next to him.

 

“Are you Kaster?” Jack’s voice broke the silence.

 

“Depends.”

 

“I’m looking for someone.”

 

“Aren’t we all?” the man replied with a grin, still keeping himself busy with the device in his hands.

 

“A woman. Tall, Russian, silver hair. Wears a black mask.”

 

“That your type?” he chuckled. Once upon a time Jack believed himself to be a rather patient man. Not anymore. He grabbed the broker by the collar of his jacket and slammed him into the wall with a growl. “Okay, okay..calma la mierda abajo.” The man huffed a breathed and after Jack released him, straightened out his clothing. “So.. you looking for some old Russian chick, that right?”

 

“Could be going by the name Margarita Raskolnikova.”

 

“Haven’t heard that name.” Kaster shook his head. He bend over to pick up his phone from the ground. “But…” he looked through a folder on his phone. ”Description sounds familiar.” Pulled out a picture and turned it around to show Jack. “This her?”

 

The woman on the screen was standing on a rooftop, dressed exactly the same as Silver – gray jacket, white hoodie, black mask. She was holding a massive sniper rifle, same type as the one he remembered Reyes’ Lieutenant using – the famous “Klyk”, bite of the tundra, that the Russians had developed during the First Crisis. Perfect for taking out large omnics clean, absolutely devastating on humans. If he had any doubt about her identity before, it was all gone now – those rifles were not open for public purchase, she must’ve still had some connections in the Russian army to get one.

 

“That’s her.” Jack nodded. “What can you tell me about her?”

 

“Uuh, not much. She’s not big on talking, very secretive, never takes off that mask.” The broker sighed and put the phone in his pocket. “She’s a merc, from what I’ve heard. Comes around every now and then. They call her Lockdown.”

 

“Who is she working for?”

 

“When she’s here – usually Los Muertos.” Kaster called Jack with his hand to lean closer and continued in a more hushed tone. “They’ve been having troubles with a rival gang. Los Gatos Negro. Hired her recently to “take care”.. “ the broker motioned with his fingers. “.. of the Gato boss. I saw the whole thing – snapped that picture right before.” He shook his head, probably recalling the incident. “You don’t wanna know the kind of mess that big ass rifle makes.” He shuddered. “Ghastly shit.”

 

“I’ve seen what she does.” Jack shook his head. “Anything else you can tell me?”

 

“That’s pretty much it, as I said – she’s not a local.” Kaster shrugged. “But.. if you ask me? I wouldn’t go looking for her.” He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocked, lit a new one. Blew a ring of smoke into the air. “Gangs like her, cause she’s efficient. Does everything with military precision.” He looked around again, checking for someone who might be listening in. “You know how some soldiers come back all messed up in the head? They see some horrible shit over there and it changes them. They get used to blood and guts, become paranoid, violent… can’t live without a war anymore. ” he took another drag, mouth full of smoke he sighed. “Mi papa was like that. What I’ve heard about her makes me think she might be too.”

 

Jack couldn’t say anything. He knew that very well may be her now. He remembered the chair she kept propped under the door handle, the way she’d be constantly on alert, looking out the window. He also knew that described him pretty well too. He slept with a gun under his pillow for fuck’s sake.

 

“Thanks.” He said after a couple of minutes of slightly uncomfortable silence. Pulling out a chip with enough credits he tossed it to the broker and leaned in again. “You never saw me.”

 

“Nope.” Kaster’s mouth pulled into a crooked grin. “I was alone all night.” He nodded, putting his payment in the inner pocked of his jacket.

 

Jack gave him a curtly wave before turning on his foot and walking away. Even with help from the broker he was still not much closer to finding Silver. Or Lockdown as she called herself now apparently. He wasn’t sure why he still referred to her as Silver in his mind. _Because she saved you._ No, she had to have ulterior motives. She had to. She was a loyal gun dog, probably still working for _him._

 

He didn’t have any luck in his hunt the next few days either. He couldn’t find anything. He tried interrogating Los Muertos members for information, but apparently they were too low level to know anything about the mercenary. He was just beginning to think she had left town all together, when finally someone gave him something he could work with. Two days from now, she was supposed to assist with a hit on the Gatos gang in one of their hideouts near a district that was currently under construction. He had time to conduct a plan.

 

Jack though a lot about what he was going to do during those two days. He thought about confronting her up right about what she was planning, if she was indeed working for _him._ He thought about asking about Blackwatch and what really went down five years ago. He was sure she wouldn’t talk easily, but he was willing to take a page out of her book, let her taste her own medicine. _When did he get like this.._

 

On the night of the supposed hit, he made his way towards the address given to him. A rather cold night, colder than previous ones. The wind was howling in his ears, as he ran across the rooftops, rifle at the ready in his hands. Almost a month of searching, he was finally going to get his answers.

 

He spotted her on a neighboring building. She was standing with her back to him, full height, rifle aimed at a window. By the looks of it, she was too focused to notice him. Jack inched closer to the edge, he could see her even better now, his visor giving him better vision in the low light. He had the thought in his mind to just shoot her in the back, put an end to whatever the plan for him was, but then three shots rang out. Bang, bang, bang, with about three seconds in between, leaving holes in the wall of the building across her. She had been watching the movements through the window, calculating where her targets would be. He remembered Ana trying to teach him how to do that as well, but he never learned.

 

Silver put the safety back on and swung the rifle over her head, attaching it to the rig on her back. Her bullets had found their marks. Jack watched carefully for her next move. She turned around, walking towards the edge of the roof.

 

“76?” she noticed him. Damn, he had hoped for the element of surprise. She continued to walk closer. He raised his rifle – a warning. Her hand flew to her belt – handgun at the ready. “What is going on?”

 

“Drop the act.” He growled. “I know who you are… Lieutenant.”

 

There was a pregnant pause, before she turned on her feet and took off running in the opposite direction. Apparently him recognizing her didn’t fit in their little plan. He opened fire her way, aiming for anything vital, but she was surprisingly fast, jumping to the next roof and continuing right, not slowing down even a bit at the hard landing.

 

“Fuck.” Jack grumbled and himself and sprinted after her. He chased her on the rooftops trough a good part of the block, before her stride began to slow it’s speed and he managed to gain on her and topple her to the ground. His boot pinning her down, he aimed the rifle at her face.

 

“Didn’t think I’d figure it out, huh?”

 

“What are you talking about?” she was breathing hard, hands grasping at his foot in her attempt to get away.

 

“Enough.”  He leaned down and tore off the black mask. That was the last confirmation he needed. Age was starting to catch up on her, little wrinkles had made their way around her eyes and lips. There were some new scars, more prominent dark circles than he remembered, but she looked the same for the most part. He had stayed in that proximity to her a little too long though, enough for her to kick the rifle out of his hands and wrap her legs around his, sending him to the ground as well. His head hitting the hard surface with enough force to make him see stars for a moment too long.

 

“That was a big mistake.” She shook her head, rising to her feet and using his momentary dizziness to take out the massive rifle and pointing it to his face in return. Not changed much indeed, she was planning on shooting him with that thing point blank – cruel to the bone.

 

It was his time to disarm her, his hands going to pull the sniper out of hers and throw if aside. He kicked her back, but before he could get up she had steadied herself and the heel of her foot slammed down in between his legs. Had he not managed to move out of the way he was sure somethings were never going to be the same, judging by the crack in the cement.

 

“Wasn’t that bad in bed was I?” for some reason his mind make him think back of their little moment back in that motel room. That apparently turned out to be an even bigger mistake as she let out an animalistic, rage filled growl as he got up. Her metal hand went to grasp his shoulder and pull him in, just so she could slam a solid, hard knee in his gut and push him back. That was the exact moment he remembered two things – the fact that her arm, was not her only prosthetic, and the fact the he had never actually _seen_ her in any kind of a fight.

 

He saw her going to pick up her rifle just in time. He grabbed his and ran for her, slamming into her midsection full force and sending them both tumbling from the roof. She had managed to twist them both around mid fall, so when they landed on the nearby dumpster he took the blunt of it. Their weapons flying to the ground. He quickly recovered, kicking her off him and jumped back on his feet.

 

“Morrison?!” her voice cut through the relative silence. He looked up to see her staring at him dumbfounded, hood fallen off and silvery hair all over the place. He glanced to his side - his mask laying on the ground. It angered him even more. Who did she thought she was fooling at this point?

 

“I’m not in the mood for games.” He growled, pulling her close by the arm, the flesh one, and twisting it around to wrap around her neck. He thrashed violently in his hold in an attempt to get herself free, before reaching for the knife in her belt and pulling it out, trying to blindly stab at him.

 

He acted quickly, grabbing her hand and turning the blade to plunge in into her stomach. The sharp serrated blade, same one as in his dream, pierced through her vest reaching its target.  Just to add insult to injury he cut her pained scream short, fisting her hair and slamming her face first into the nearby wall.

 

That though, was not enough to put her down. Staying on her feet on sheer adrenaline and anger, she pulled the knife out and threw it at him. Jack barely managed to dodge, the point leaving a burning red trail on his cheek, before it stuck in the bricks behind him. That was quickly followed by a solid hit to the middle of his chest that punched the air straight out of his lungs. He staggered back and she took the opportunity to wrap those long, slender metal fingers around his throat.

 

“I’m going to make you spit out your soul.” Pulling him close she hissed, voice dripping with venom and mouth full of blood. Under the yellow light of the street lamp, her eyes looked almost feral. She delivered a few more knees to his gut, before reaching for her sidearm. Sirens began howling in his head and he let go of her arm to try and get the gun before she could do anything with it. Two hands beat one. Bang, bang, bang. Three shot delivered to her torso point blank. He had to admit – she had good taste in firearms. Armor piercing rounds, very smart.

 

She let go of him, clutching her midsection. Still not enough for her to go down. Jack grabbed her human hand, twisting it behind her back hard until he heard a sickening crack. Howling in pain, she finally fell to the ground, and he leaned back against the wall, breathing hard. Something in his chest hurt – he was pretty sure she had, at the very least. cracked a couple of his ribs. She was faring far worse than him, though, so that dulled the pain a little bit.

 

“I’ll tell him you said “Hello” next time I see him.” He said turning around and going where his rifle had fallen.

 

“Who.. what are you talking about?” she wheezed out from behind him.

 

“You know exactly _who_ I’m talking about.”

 

Turning around he saw it a split second too late. Her leaning against the wall, hand raised up, the bright red glow coming out of her palm. The hard laser net fell around him in a dome, trapping him in, before he could get away.

 

She made her way to her own fallen weapon, picking it up and leaning on it. Before leaving she came close. He could see her face clearly under the neon red glow of the trap. Hurt was etched on her face, and just now he began realizing that she really had nothing to gain from lying at this point. He knew about Blackwatch’s scare tactics, if anything she would’ve tried those, tried to make him paranoid, to make him think _he_ was just around the corner waiting to strike. Maybe she really didn’t know who he really was before this. Maybe she just saw someone in need of help..

 

“I have no idea who you keep talking about.” She slurred, breath heavy and rattling. “But you do this again, and I’ll put a bullet right through your stupid balding head.” Just to make her point clear, she got even closer, looking him straight in the eye before spitting blood in his face.

 

Using the rifle as a makeshift crutch, she staggered away into the night, leaving a trail of red behind her.The moment the net broke down and dissipated, Jack did the same.

 

Her mask was lying by the dumpster, cracked in two places – he must’ve thrown it off the roof while in the thick of it. He picked it up, stared at it for a moment. A couple silvery hairs had gotten stuck on the inside, probably when he ripped it off. Her face when he did came back to him. A mixture of anger and confusion. She really had had no idea who he was before now…

 

The realization dawned on him more and more as he walked, slowly, minding his injuries. She had seemed so calm, back there on the rooftop. Before he started to speak. God damn. This could have all gone away, he could’ve never seen that animalistic, violent side of hers he’d heard so much about. He wouldn’t be sporting two.. no, three, four broken ribs now. Fuck, the back of his head hurt too. A hand through his hair came back to show he was bleeding. He needed to sit down. He wasn’t a young man anymore and Silver, no.. Lockdown, the Lieutenant, whatever her real name actually was, she was not just a kid with a baseball bat. She was a trained killer, the enraged hand he had tried to bite off after it fed him.

 

He sat down on the frosty pavement. It had rained during the day, temperatures dropping low enough for it to turn into thin ice by now. He popped a biotic emitter and reattached his mask. Hers was still in his hand. He was angry. At himself mostly. If it wasn’t been for his damn paranoia he could’ve kept his identity a secret. Now she knew, and he had angered her. She would probably go after him now. _If she managed to stay alive._ The thought appeared in his head and filled him with guilt? Maybe. But why? No matter who she was now, she had still done all those things back then. _But she saved him._ So what? A random act of kindness can’t make up for all the blood. _She saved him and he attacked her, left her to die._ Fuck, he had to find her. Those little pick-me-ups couldn’t possibly undo all the damage he’d inflicted.

 

Waiting for the emitter to do its work, Jack rose to his feet. Going back to the trail of red she had left behind. It wasn’t hard to find her. Steady drops and handprints on the walls showed him the way.

 

He found her, curled up by a lamp post. Ruined vest sitting next to her, rifle on the ground. Her hair splattered with blood, white hoodie with four holes in it – saturated with the stuff. Jack remembered it hanging on the chair, back in that motel room, stained with his blood. After she’d saved him. Another pang of guilt punctured his heart. God fucking damn it, he had to help her..

 

He heard a crack, a syringe fell broken from her shaking metal hand. There were three more on the ground – all unusable. She cried out, a pathetic little whimper that almost didn’t reach his ears. He’d never seen someone so big look so small. He inched closer and his footsteps immediately alerting her. Eyes, bloodshot and wet, shot up to meet his visor. She let out a sigh, a strangled and rattling one.

 

“Just do it.” Her voice was barely there. Her lips were turning blue. She relaxed her hands, letting them drop by her sides.

 

Jack walked up to her, kneeled, and looked her over.

“You’re not done yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Indirectly mentioned - Some more of the BW Crew<3


	3. Happy Birthday

 Vest was ruined. Mask – gone. Heavy bleeding. She felt light headed, barely managing to breathe. God damn it. Vision was giving out too, eyes stinging, black spots everywhere. Fuck no, she wasn’t going to go out this way. Omnics didn’t kill her. That explosion didn’t kill her. All the years in Blackwatch didn’t kill her. She was not going to let god damn fucking, poster boy Jack Morrison have the privilege of ending her life. Not him and not today.

 

What time was it? Lyudmila hobbled to a lit lamp post, pulled her right sleeve up – twenty minutes to midnight. Twenty more minutes, she needed to keep her eyes open for at least twenty more minutes. After that.. after that whatever happens, happens.

 

She slid down to the ground, back resting on the metal post. Her hand, the good one, the metal one, reached into the utility belt pocket for a healing injection. “Fuck.” She cried out, a raspy tired cry, when the trembling hand gripped the syringe too hard and broke it. It was fine, it was all good – she had three more.

 

It was getting so cold. The tears streaming down her face felt like ice. She didn’t want to be cold anymore. It was too much, she was starting to lose feeling in her right arm. The chill was almost numbing the pain from the broken bone. She barely even noticed the blood oozing from the holes in her torso. Had the temperatures really dropped so low, or was it just because she was starting to feel her consciousness slip away?

 

Damn. Another broken syringe. Lyudmila couldn’t get her arm to work properly. Nerves were giving out. Her eyes trying to flutter shut. Her head leaned back on the post. Her chocked out whimpers were growing louder. She didn’t want to die. Not here, not like this. Not today. Third injection broke, when she almost had it at her thigh.

 

“Fuck, please..” she mumbled to herself. Only one left. Her hands started trembling even more. Last chance, god damn it. She looked at her watch again. Two minutes to mid night. Her heart started racing ever faster, blood growing colder, eyes heavier. Tears got heavier too. Two more minutes. “Please, let me live for two more minutes.” She begged no one in particular. She’d never been religious, she wasn’t about to start being right now.

 

_ Crack _ . Last adrenaline cocktail broke under the pressure of her trembling metal fingers. Her breath hitched. That was her last hope. Desperation burned her throat like acid. One strangled cry escaped her lips. She shrunk into herself, trying to keep herself at least a little warm. Her blood splattered on everything around her, paining her chest, her hands, the ground,  _ everything _ that nasty red colour. Spreading the smell of copper everywhere.

 

She heard the steps. A momentary response to raise her eyes and look, despite knowing she couldn’t possibly fight off whatever was coming her way. It was him. Morrison. Visor on his face, rifle in one hand – in the other her broken mask. Like trophy. Was there any point in trying to fight now? He was going to do what he had started earlier. She briefly looked at her watch. One minute to midnight. God damn it.

“Just do it.” She managed to wheeze out, despite her lung having barely any air left in them. She couldn’t fight him even if she wanted. He had already killed her. Her hands fell lips at her sides. She had given up.

 

He walked closer, not aiming the rifle. Did he want to finish her off with his bare hands? The visor gleamed under the light of the lamp – a cruel crimson. Like the blood that was seeping everywhere. A nearby clock tower signaled midnight. He didn’t seem to notice it. Why would he care anyway. It wasn’t his life ticking away. He continued in his stride, silent, until he took a knee in front of her.

 

“You’re not done yet.” He said. Even without seeing his eyes, she could tell he was assessing the damage. Why was he prolonging this? What was the point?

 

“Fucking do it.” She could barely speak now. Everything hurt. Lyudmila coughed up red – little drops reach the front of his jacket.

 

“No.” He didn’t offer anything else.

 

“Do it!” she managed to scream out.

 

“I’m not going to kill you.”

 

“You already did.” Her breaths were shallow, couldn’t fill her lungs properly. Not enough to keep her over the edge for long. “Why are you even here? To gloat?”

 

“I’m here to help you.”

 

“Then finish me, you fucking coward piece of shit!” An ugly sob made its way out of her aching throat. “Come on! Shoot me in the goddamn head, end it! I can’t do this anymore..” She saw his hand reach t his belt, take out something. At first she though, almost hoped, it was the handgun he had taken from her earlier. It wasn’t. He pulled out a biotic emitter. One of those she had seen him use on that joined mission back in the day. She remembered seeing him and Reyes sitting on the frozen ground surrounded by its yellow glow.

 

“I owe you a life.”

 

“You don’t owe me shit..” It was the last thing Lyudmila could muster any will to say. Before those black dots that were swimming around her overtook her vision completely, before she let her head fall heavy down to her chest, she saw that bright golden-yellow light bloom around her.

 

When she came back to consciousness, she wasn’t in the street anymore. She was in a bed, tucked in tightly. She could feel the fabric of the cover on her exposed skin. No wounds to be found, no sickly blood either. There was weak sunlight coming through the closed blinds of a window on her left. It was day time, probably around noon if she were to guess.

She looked around. Motel room, not hers. The bed was big and on the other side were all of her things – her rifle, clothes, knife and gun, mask, bag.. Her bag? How did her bag get here? 

On her right she heard a rustle of cloth, turning around she saw Morrison. Sitting on a chair, leather and visor off, hair messed up and eyes tired. There were two of those emitters on the table next to him.

 

He was looking at her. A face half-caution, half-relief. “You made it.” He said. It was flat, a simple statement with nothing behind it.

 

“What day is it?” her voice was hoarse and she frowned at it, coughing a couple of times, trying to get the phlegm out of her throat.

 

“Still the twenty-first.” He got up and went to the window. Parting the blinds he looked outside. 

“Twelve thirty-three.”She let out a sigh of relief. She hadn’t slept through it.

 

The next few minutes were spent in silence. She focused on her stuff on the bed again. They were neatly organized and clean. Placed on the side of her dominant arm, close enough to quickly grab. He had wanted to put her at ease, to show he meant no harm. Minimize that paranoia she had no doubt he had caught wind of by now. He could tell the signs – there were all over him as well.

 

She reached out to grab a shirt from her bag, she didn’t question how he got it – probably found her keycard and went to the motel while she was unconscious. He had stripped her almost dare in order to tend to the wounds and clean up the blood. There was only a slight ache in the previously broken arm. She put on the old black thermal, gliding her fingers down to her stomach to feel four new scars. Three bullets, one blade – no stitches. She wondered how many emitters he had used up in order to keep her from dying. If the two set up on the table ware any indication he had expected to use more. How close had she come to being gone?

 

There was a strange pang in her chest. An unwelcome feeling of gratitude. Why would she be grateful to him? He was the one that almost killed her, did it with her own weapons, and then in the last minute decided to change his mind because he felt like he owed her something. Fuck him and his stupid inconsistent morals.  _ But he did save her. _ Not a lot of people left that would do that. Even less that wound be considerate enough to not only worry about putting her at ease, but to make sure she had her own spare of clothes to change. The things in her bag weren’t even rumpled – everything just like she left it. He had been so god damn considered.

 

“Are you hungry?” he broke the silence, turning away from the window and returning to his place on the chair. He rummaged through his own small baggage and took out a rather large bar of chocolate.

 

“Chocolate?”

“You lost a lot of blood.” He shrugged and peeled off the foil. “In, uh.. no small thanks to me.” His eyes looked down for a beat before he passed the treat to her. “I hear it’s good for that sort of thing.”

 

The silence resumed after that. The chocolate was nice. The dark kind, with the rich bitter flavor that she liked. Apparently he liked that one too. If she had to be completely honest with herself they had a lot more in common than just a same taste in sweets, but that was not something she felt like thinking about at the moment. Or ever. Reaching out to leave the half-eaten bar on the small coffee table she looked him over. His hair was a mess, eyes more tired than they had been last night..

 

“Morrison?”

 

“Just call me Jack.” He shook his head, his gaze meeting hers.

 

“Morrison.” Lyudmila repeated, insistent. She looked the other way. “Thank you.”

 

“I owed you.”

 

She rolled her eyes at that and let out a small chuckle. Owed her. He had a funny way of showing his gratitude back in that alley. Apparently his way of saying “thank you” was with bullets and fists. She wanted to ask who was the person he kept referring to during their fight, but things right now were too shaky at best. Not to mention the insistent headache that was trying to manifest itself – no doubt a result of the massive blood loss she had suffered. Better to not agitate Morrison in this state.

 

They spent most of the afternoon in silence. There was really nothing they could say to each other, now that most of the cards were on the table. Morrison tried to start up a conversation a few times, but she met him only with two or four letter words in return. Silence was good. Silence was better. She preferred it that way. Sometimes it was better to not talk to anyone. About anything. Ever.

 

“Why were you so concerned about the date?” he asked at some point, when the sun had already begun starting to set.

 

“What?”

 

“When you woke up.” He explained, putting down the tablet he had been staring at, up until now. “You sounded relieved when I told you it’s the twenty-first.” Ah, fuck, so he had noticed. Damn it. She sighed and shook her head, adjusting herself in the bed.

 

“It doesn’t matter.”

 

“I’m thinking it might.” He narrowed his eyes at her. So he was still suspicious after all.

“It’s nothing that concerns you, if that’s what has you worried.” Lyudmila snapped. She didn’t want to talk about that either. It really was a silly thing to put a meaning to, but even after all these years she was still such a sentimental fool.

 

“Do you have somewhere to be?” he persisted.

 

“I don’t.”

 

“Is there something that’s supposed to happen..”

 

“It’s my birthday.” She answered finally. It didn’t matter. Not anymore. She just wanted him to stop talking, to stop asking questions. She wanted the goddamn silence back.

 

“Oh.” He probably didn’t expect her answer to be so mundane. Probably thought she was worried about another job, another kill. Or whatever he believed her to be now. He fiddled with his hands a bit. Awkwardness etched on his face. “Uh, happy birthday.”

 

“Don’t.” she shook her head. Why was he even trying to pretend like he cared even a little bit. 

“As I said – it doesn’t matter.”

 

“What do you usually do on the date?”

 

“Drink.”

 

“I don’t think that would be a good idea with all the blood you’ve lost.”

 

“Yeah, and whose fault is that?” She glared daggers at him. He went silent again, staring at the floor, no doubt he was feeling at least some guilt. Good. He should. He should feel guilty.

 

“I mean.. you tried to kill me too.” He said, eyes still at the floor. Was he trying to justify himself now?

 

“You attacked me.” Lyudmila’s voice was rough, a drip of venom in it. “Out of the blue. Just because you found out who I was.”

 

“You weren’t giving me any slack either.” He pointed out, his hand going to glide over his chest. “Broke four ribs.”

 

“I was defending myself.” She growled, rising up to sit at the edge of the bed and stare him down. “From the raging old lunatic I had, stupidly, saved about a month ago.”

 

“You can’t, in all honesty, tell me I had no grounds for suspicion.” He narrowed his eyes, his hands gripping the sides of the chair. Damn it, that’s exactly what she had wanted to avoid – getting him angry. But it was going to happen, the elephant had been in the room even before she had woken up.

“You didn’t.” she wasn’t about to let him off the hook though. “If I had wanted you dead, you would’ve been.”

 

“I think our little dance in the alley proved that I am not exactly an easy man to kill.”

 

“You were unconscious in my motel room for a day and a half!” her voice was raising in volume, despite burning protests of her throat. “I watched over you like a goddamn hawk to make sure you survived!”

 

“You could’ve just been biding your time.” He hissed. “I would’ve been a much more satisfying kill if I fought back, right?”

 

“Why would I kill a random person I found bleeding by the garbage?”

 

“You knew about Soldier 76..” he came closer to her, watching her expressions. “How could I have known you didn’t know it was me, huh?”

 

“I had sex with you!” Lyudmila almost yelled. She had just now realized exactly what had happened in that motel room almost a month ago. “That should’ve been telling enough!”

 

He recoiled back from that comment. It could’ve been just her, but he seemed a bit insulted. Did he really have such a high opinion of himself? “Oh, please.” He collected himself and shook his head. “With all the shit I know you’ve done, fucking someone into a false sense of security?” His voice goes cruel and sharp. “I wouldn’t put it past you.”

 

“You don’t know me, Morrison.” she gritted her teeth. He was starting to get very out of line and she wasn’t entirely sure how long it would before one of his comments would set her off.

 

“I do enough, to know that my worry was justified.” He frowned. He looked away to the window. “I’ve seen the reports. All the shit you and your pals back in Blackwatch did..” he shook his head. “For all I knew, the rest could’ve been waiting for me.”

 

He didn’t know anything about Blackwatch. Lyudmila leaned back onto her arm, turning her head to the side, away from him. “You don’t know shit, Morrison. ” her voice was low, almost a whisper at this point. He had no right to speak of them.

 

“I don’t?” he growled. “Enlighten me then.”

 

“Why? You didn’t care back then, why would you care now..” she shook her head. “I knew what you all said about me. About all of us.” A sigh escaped her lips. “They were all criminal who found a way out of jail. I was a sadistic bitch, who liked to maim people. Yeah, I’ve heard it all.  _ Your _ pals called me a butcher..”

 

“Were we wrong? You know what you all did was not right..”

 

“What we did was what we had to!” she turned to look at him. There was an annoying stinging in her eyes, but she couldn’t be bothered to care about it right now. “For you people. All you fucks in blue, that  _ knew _ it had to be done, but never had the guts to do it. We shoveled bodies for you! Do you know how a corpse, left for hours under the sun, smells? I do. All of us did. We did your dirty work and never even got a “thanks” for it. We did shit that, to this day, still show up in my nightmares. You all got buried in honors. Blackwatch got unmarked graves and deleted files. I know. I was at the funeral of every single one of them. Do you know what it’s like to see all the people you’ve ever cared about disappear one by one? It was my job to make sure they got to have gravestones one day and I failed them.

 

The age for retirement was fifty. Do you know how many got to do so, Morrison? Not a single one. Shit, some kids never even reached thirty. There’s a field in Zurich that no one knows is a graveyard. The ground is full of coffins. Most of them empty, because we didn’t get a rescue team. All we had was each other, the steel in our hands and the hope that we can make it through. That we can scrape our way out of the pit, not get swallowed up by the flames and evade death. At least for a little longer.

 

We were all brothers and sisters. We were a fucking family, Morrison! Do you hear me? Those kids I buried were like children to me. I knew all of them. Their names, where they came from, even how they like their fucking coffee. I did my hardest to protect them, to give them cover, but in the end it didn’t matter. They are all gone, and.. and I’m alone.. “

 

“I’m alone too..”

 

“You are alone by your own volition! Your people are alive! Lindholm, Ziegler, Wilhelm? They are all alive and doing fine! You and Amari are remembered as heroes! There’s a god damn statue of you in Zurich!” The stinging in her eyes had become unbearable and she let the tears fall free. No point in trying to hide them anymore. “No one forced you to be alone, you’re just a coward. I don’t have that option. Everyone is either dead or in hiding, branded a criminal. Because of you. When shit got bad you threw us to the wolves for the things  _ you _ asked us to do. And we did them because no one else would..

 

Do you know what it’s like to feel hollow, Morrison? The night terrors, the shivers that shake your entire body even though it’s the peak of summer.. Do you know what it’s like to not be able to wash the stench of stale blood off your skin for days? Or forget the look on someone’s face, right before you pull the trigger? Pushing lit matches into your fingertips just to make sure you’re still human, you’re alive, you can still feel  _ something _ ..

 

Do you know real guilt? When there are eyes that keep haunting you, wherever you go. You all thought I was heartless, an executioner, a monster – I’m not. I remember the face of every single person I’ve ever killed. And they linger. Always watching me, always silent, always judging..

 

I’ve gotten old. And I’m not like you. Shit, I’m not even like Amari – I’m tired. There are days in which I barely get myself out of bed, because everything hurts  _ so much _ . I’m so tired and I can’t do this anymore. I asked you to finish me, last night, because I can’t take it anymore. The pain, the loneliness.. this empty hollow feeling in my chest. I feel thin, spread out like paper. ” she took a moment to clear her throat. “I had promised myself to live up to see fifty and retire for  _ them _ . But I can’t do it anymore. You should’ve let me..” she was interrupted by the thing she least expected – a kiss. Morrison had gotten out of his chair and leaned down, his knee on the bed next to her. His fingers tangled with her hair, his scarred lips insistent on hers.

 

She was startled at first, recoiling backwards and staring at him with wide, puffy eyes. “What are you doing?” He didn’t say anything, just pushed her shoulders down, into the pillows and climbed on top, hovering above her. She did nothing to stop the second kiss, gentler than the first one, softer. She answered it, slightly uncertain. How long had it been since the last time someone had kissed her?

 

“Let me make you feel something nice.” He said, leaning to her left to ghost his lips over her neck. She let out an, in her mind, embarrassing little gasp before reaching to grab the neckline of his shirt and look him in the eye.

 

“Why?”

 

“Returning the favor.” He cracked a smile and removed her hand, pinning it to bed. His other hand dragged the cover off her and set out to explore under her top, gliding over the tight, defined muscles of her abdomen.

 

“You don’t have..” another gasp broke her sentence, as his fingers toyed with the little decorative bow, between her breasts, on her bra.

 

“It’s your birthday.” His voice was a whisper, his breath tickling the sensitive skin under her ear. 

“I want to make it up to you. Make you feel good.”

 

He felt guilty and she knew it. He didn’t care if she felt good, he just wanted to feel better about himself. About what he had a said, about almost killing her, about everything from way back. That’s what she believed at least. Still, that conviction didn’t make it less enjoyable, on a purely physical level, when he peppered her face and neck with kisses. It didn’t make her want to push him off, when his hands pulled her shirt over her head and threw it on the empty chair. 

Didn’t make her not do the same – discarding his top and running her fingers, mechanical and real, over his scarred chest. She had to admit that for a man his age, his body looked like it hadn’t aged all that much.

 

She saw his eyes flick to her left shoulder where a spider web of scars that spread from her prosthetic to her collar bone and went to lick at her neck.

 

“Explosion.” She answered his questioning look. He nodded, his fingers tracing the lines, pulling her brastrap down her shoulder. He leaned over again, placing a kiss right where the metal met flesh. The sensitivity of the scar tissue making her take a shallow breath. God damn it, he was being so attentive..

 

He spent some time there, leaving pale pink marks over her throat before his hands traveled down again, skimming the elastic band of her panties. “I’m gonna fuck you, like a love you.” He murmured into her skin, before pulling them down and throwing them to join her shirt on the chair. His fingers parted her hips and went exploring into her heat. Slow and gentle, making her burry her hand in the hair at the back of his head and bite her lower lip. His own mouth continuing to trace down to her chest.

 

“You like that, sweetheart?” he let out a heavy breath against her skin, tugging on the padded cup of her bra with his teeth. Lyudmila was about to scold him, she wasn’t a sweetheart, but his fingers curled up so sweetly inside her that she couldn’t say anything more than a barely audible moan.

 

“I like those little noises you make.” He chuckled, placing a kiss between her breasts before snaking a hand under her to get rid of the garment covering them all together. “You always this quiet?” He had found a really sweet spot and she breathed out a silent “Yes.”, her fingers clutching his hair harder.

 

“Well then, let me see if I can get you to be a little louder.”  His lips trailed down, over the bullet hole scars he left on her earlier, and when they reach below her navel, Lyudmila has to remind herself that he’s only being this sweet and gentle out of pity. Because she stupidly let herself be vulnerable in front of him. In front of the enemy. Was he an enemy really? Right now she wasn’t all that sure, because when he settles between her legs and his fingers leave her heat, a soft whine escapes her lips at the sudden emptiness.

 

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” He looked up at her with a smirk, but before he continued she managed to snap herself for a moment and push on his shoulder.

 

“Morrison..”

 

“Jack.”

 

“Morrison.” She insisted. “You and I both know I’m not a sweetheart.” She shook her head. “Calling me that just makes it all the more obvious you’re lying.”

 

He didn’t say anything in return, just gave her a small nod in acknowledgement, before trailing his fingers down her thighs. Tracing the scars that sneaked up from her prosthetic knees, he gave her another look “Explosion?”. She confirmed with a nod of her own, and he smiled again placing his lips upon the scars, just as gently as before.

 

She really had to fight hard to remind herself that this was just his guilty consciousness, that he was just “returning the favor”. It felt good, but there was still this emptiness deep in her chest, because this didn’t mean anything and no matter how many times she told herself she didn’t need anyone, there was still this awful need to be close to somebody. Real close, not just sex and not with Morrison.

 

Lyudmila’s thoughts were interrupted by his large hands parting her thighs even more, and the tip of his tongue tickling her clit. Her hands fisted into the bed sheets under them like a vise, as he continued with his careful and slow ministrations. This was nothing like what she normally indulged in, but he was being so fucking considerate and attentive that it was shocking her entire system. It was strange and sweet and nothing like she’d ever experienced before.

 

She tried to stifle a moan with her hand, when his tongue found that one sweet spot, but his own flew up to wrap his fingers around her wrist and pin it again to the bed. “I told you, I wanted to hear you louder.” He chuckled and resumed what he was doing. If she had to be honest, she was more than capable of slipping her hand out of his grip, but she decided, in the back of her mind, to indulge him. She had never been a loud person before, but at least she could meet him halfway.

 

His actions grew more insistent, and this time she did not try to cover up the slightly louder moan. He on his part, let out a satisfied hum and continued, his lips gently nipping at those sweet, sensitive spots that made her breathing quicken and heat start pooling low in her belly. 

He must’ve noticed that, because he slipped his fingers back in, abandoning her thigh.

 

“Morrison..” he whined trying to get his attention, reaching down to tap on his shoulder. Her voice sounded strained, almost desperate. He seemed to understand what she meant and doubled his efforts, humming all the while, the vibrations of his voice sending little jolts of pleasure and tipping her over the edge. Her free hand flew up to cover her eyes as she came undone quietly, but still louder than she had ever been before.

 

She parted her fingers to see him rise up from his spot between her legs, licking his lips and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. There was a smirk on his face, as he leaned over her again and chuckled.

 

“What?”

 

“For someone who I know, from experience, can break bones with her bare hands..” he started, gripping her wrist and removing her palm from her eyes. “You’re being awfully cute.”

 

“I’m not..” she started, sensing her voice to be too high, she schooled herself and shook her head, changing the pitch to be lower. “I am not cute.”

 

“You kind of are.” He placed a small kiss on her forehead. “But, I was hoping you’d be a bit louder.” He raised an eyebrow, while grabbing her hips and swiftly dragging her closer. She could feel the bulge in his pants. Apparently his actions had gotten him quite aroused as well.

 

“I am also not loud.”

 

“Guess I’m gonna have to try harder then.” Morrison smirked, reaching down, to unbuckle his belt and free himself from the constrains of his pants. He kicked off his boots as well, before throwing the rest of his clothes to the growing pile on the chair. His hand went to caress her cheek and he leaned down to kiss her. Sweetly and gently. Like she was something precious, someone who deserved a soft hand.

 

He went slow, easing his way in almost carefully, like one would do with a first love. Lyudmila let out a deep sigh, her fingers gliding over his shoulders. They were not lovers, not friends, not even allies. There was nothing that really connected them apart from the fact that were made from the same type of steel – hardened, but rusting and bordering on useless. In their own different ways.

 

He was picking up his pace, there was a sense of frustration and restrain in his movements. Like he wanted to go rough and dirty, but was determined to keep his composure. As if he thought she was made of glass, as if he actually cared if he broke her. She knew he didn’t, but he had become quite the good liar in these past few years. In a way, he was being almost cruel with this pretend intimacy.  _ This is what people, who are not like you get to have – softness and care. _

 

It was, on some level, somewhat cathartic, some kind of a release. It wasn’t like it was bad. He knew what he was doing, angling his hips just the right way to hit the right spots with every thrust, leaving dainty little pale marks across her skin, touching everywhere that he knew would set her aflame. But the sense of pretend was all over him. He didn’t care about her, it was just pity.

 

At some point she decided to give up on thinking and just enjoy the moment. Imagining that he cared and that he was someone else. Escapism at its finest, and her lips went to his neck. Gliding and whispering things in her native tongue that she knew he had no way of understanding. The short nails of her right hand were scraping his back, just hard enough to leave thin lines that were going to disappear without a trace in an hour or half. Doing that thing with her internal muscles that he liked so much last time.

 

His reaction was almost immediate. He leaned down his head on her shoulder, growling  “Fuck, Silver..” in her ear.

 

“Still calling me that?” she chuckled, before realizing something. She had been calling him by his name this whole time, but he had never said hers. She frowned a bit, placing her hands on his shoulders and pushing him back a bit “Do you not remember my name?”

 

“I..” he started, but looked away. He did not remember her name. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

 

She shook her head and let out another small laugh. Of course he didn’t. Why would he? No one ever bothered to remember their names back then – all of them knew they were going to be gone soon enough anyway.

 

“What is your name?”

 

“It’s fine.” She carded her fingers through his thinning white hair, placing a kiss on his temple. “You can keep calling me Silver if you want.”

He seemed a bit unsure, that guilty expression painting his features again. She sighed softy, cradling his head in her hands and kissed along the scarred lines on his face. “It’s okay. I didn’t expect you to remember it anyway.” She captured his mouth in a searing kiss, her tongue licking along his lower lip. “You’re not going to go soft on me are you, old man?” she giggled, biting down gently.

 

That seemed to do the trick and he gave her a sharp thrust with a snap of his hips, making her let out a surprised moan. “Old man..” he chuckled, starting to get back into his pace. “Remember why I called you Silver in the first place?” He said, lightly tugging on a lock of her gray hair.

 

“That’s not very ni.. ah.” She was about to scold him, you don’t talk about a lady’s age, but his fingers had slid down to her core, insistently adding to the pleasure. If Lyudmila had to be honest, there were so many things she disliked, even hated, about him, but she had to admit that he more than knew how to make someone feel good.

 

She was getting close again. Her entire body, usually running cold, felt like it was slowly being engulfed by a raging fire. Her breathing was becoming shallow and with every push of his, she would let out little whines and moans. He liked those, evident by the growling in her ear and his teeth nipping at her skin.

 

Suddenly he drew back, settling on his knees, and snaked an arm under her back. He pulled her into his lap, taking her arms in his and placed them on his shoulders, kissing the back of each palm before. It was strange, to her, being with someone stronger than she was. Someone who could maneuver her however they liked. It was a bit freeing, in a way, letting someone move her around like a paper doll.

 

He entered her again, bouncing her on his lap with his arm firmly anchored on her waist, the 

other one – massaging her clit. If what his body languages was telling her was correct, he was getting pretty close as well. “You smell so good.” he murmured in her ear, his face buried in her hair and he inhaled deeply “Promise to be a little louder this time around?”

 

“No..ah.” her speech was broken up by a moan. “No promises.”

 

“Just come closer then.” He said, flattening his palm across her back, and pressing her tightly against his chest. She could feel just how fast his heart was beating. Lyudmila rested her chin on his shoulder, letting strands of her hair tickle his skin. She came faster than she expected, catching herself by surprise, with a breathy whine and a slew of curses half in English, half in Russian, clutching hard at Morrison’s hair. He lowered her down, back onto the bed and rode out her climax with her, chasing his own.

 

He came not too long after her, just as she was starting to feel too sensitive and wanting to push him off. Pulling out, he let his release paint her stomach and then rolled off to her side, breathing just as deep and hard as she was. Lyudmila was about to get up to clean off, when a hand on her shoulder told her to stay down.

 

“I’ll get up.” He said, between breaths. “Just give me a moment.”

 

“I thought you were a super soldier or something.” She laughed.

 

“I am a super soldier or something.” He nodded, running a hand over his face. “I’m also in my fifties and haven’t slept in three days.” Morrison chuckled and got up, heading to the bathroom. On his way he picked up his boxers from the pile of clothes on the chair. A moment later he returned with a warm washcloth in hand. “You know.. there was a rumor about you back in the day..” he started, quirking and eyebrow while wiping away the evidence of their actives off her. “That you rarely got any. Kinda starting to doubt that.”

 

Lyudmila shook her head. So even the brass had heard about that. No doubt thanks to McCree’s big mouth. “Just because it doesn’t happen often, doesn’t mean I don’t pay attention to what people tend to like when it does.” She said when he returned and motioned to him to give her clothes too.

 

“Well then, send my thanks to whoever taught you to do that thing with your muscles.” He chuckled, getting back in bed and after she was done putting her shirt and panties back on, pulled her down, spooning her and covered them both with the thick blanket. “You don’t mind, do you?”

 

“I thought..” she wanted to say she thought the pretending was only during sex, but it did feel nice. She was always cold and he radiated heat like a goddamn furnace. And she was too tired anyway. “No, I don’t.”

 

“Thank you.” He murmured into her hair. She was almost asleep when he groggily asked “Will you tell me your name after all?”

 

“Margarita..”

 

“No. Not your fake one. Your real name.”

 

She frowned a little. How did he know about that? How much investigating had he done before their meeting last night? And how did he even know it was fake, if he didn’t even remember the real one?

 

“It’s Lyudmila.” She sighed after a couple silent minutes. “Lyudmila Dontsova.”

 

“Huh, now that you say it, it sounds so obvious.”  He settled in a bit closer to her, pushing his knee between hers. “Good night, Lyudmila.”

 

“Good night, Morrison.”

 

Lyudmila woke up before him the next morning. Still held close to his chest, their legs entangled, feeling his calm breathing and heartbeat.  It was strange, waking up next to someone. Feeling a warm body next to hers. Her first thought was to get up and sneak out before he woke up, but a small part wanted to stay warm for a little longer.

 

A quiet little ping came from her bag suddenly. Morrison let out a queit grumble and she turned her head back. Still sleeping, that was good. She reached over to take out the tablet. One new message, she opened it and skimmed it’s content. Job proposition from Talon – assistance needed for a mission in Juarez tonight at midnight. Team of five, needed a sixth for support. Offered quite a lot of credits for pay, mission must be pretty important to them. She could make it if she left right away.

 

She turned to look at the man behind her again and gently gripped his arm, slipping her way out of his grasp. It was all going smoothly, but the moment her metal feet touched the floor with a slight clink she felt his grasp at the back of her shirt and pull her down slightly.

 

“I have to go.” She said.

 

“Where?” his voice wasn’t even slightly groggy. Light sleeper, she should’ve known. Just like her.

 

“That’s none of your concern.” She turned back to stare at him. “Let go.”

 

He grumbled something under his breath, but still let go of the fabric and sat up, stretching his arms. “What time is it?”

 

“Four forty-three. ” she turned around to tell him, after putting on an old thermal shirt. He nodded and was about to get up when his eyes fell on her chest. She looked down as well and let out a deep sigh. The old Blackwatch logo. “Quit looking at it like it’s the goddamn mark of 

the beast.”

 

He didn’t answer, just shook his head and got up, walking towards his own bag to get dressed. By the time she had put all of her clothes on, so had he. He walked up to her a patted her shoulder. “I’ve got something for you.”

 

“You.. why?” she frowned as he pushed something in her hands. It was an armored vest. Exactly her size, black, lightweight and double reinforced.

 

“It’s better than your last one.” He said with a shrug. “I, uh, fixed your mask too.”

 

“Again – why?”

 

“I owed you.”

 

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes at that. Guess that was another thing they had in common – the guilt. “Thank you.” She gave his a small nod before slipping on the vest. Fit like a glove. She put on the mask next, strapped in all her gear and headed for the door.

“Hey, Lyudmila?” he called after her. She turned around. He stood up straight and his hand rose to his forehead to give her a salute. “Goodbye.”

 

“Goodbye, Jack.” She said, returning the gesture and walked out.

 

It had snowed over the night. A strange sight in this part of the world. And a highly unpleasant one. Lyudmila shoved her hands in her pockets and headed towards the hypertrain station. She thought about getting a vehicle for herself, but that would’ve been too inconvenient. Too conspicuous and easily recognizable. And the last thing she wanted was yet another person to be able to track her down this easily.

 

The town for the most part was still asleep. Only wayward noises of early birds broke the monotonous sound of her boots crunching in the fallen snow. Out of somewhere, however, she recognized the smell of that sweet bread she liked so much. Despite coming there rather often she hadn’t had it in years. Not since that one time, she and her old friends managed to steal themselves a little time and go on a small vacation.

 

She remembered sitting at the beach with all of them. Before everything happened, when they were all still relatively happy. Now half of them were gone and the other half could have also passed without her knowing. The only one she knew for sure was still around was Jesse – she had seen his wanted posters with the hefty bounty all around the States. That idiot could never stay out of trouble.

 

She hadn’t realized she had been walking towards the beach, until she suddenly heard the waves crashing on the coast. That exact spot where they had sat was right in front of her. She could almost see the outlines of everyone’s silhouette there. Like ghosts, like the shadows that kept following her, telling her she failed them.

 

Lyudmila sat down on the snow covered sand and let put a deep sigh. She could recall their voices now. Happy voices. Damn it, her eyes started stinging, but she swallowed the tears. She had cried enough the past day. There was still some time before the first train for Juarez. She could stay there a little longer.

 

Suddenly a ping came out of her bag again. Was it Talon again? She took it out to see a message that read “ _ Hello, Lockdown _ .” For some reason her first instinct was to look around. The message was not from Talon and it didn’t bear the signature of any of her other usual employers. She was about to type in a response when a second one came in “ _ It’s been a while since I’ve called you that… but I need to meet up. _ ”

 

This person knew her. God damn it, that was the last thing she needed right now. Were they also going to try to kill her? A third message came in. “ _ I think it’s about time I came back from the dead. _ ”

 

Now she was starting to get nervous. That didn’t narrow it down. Most of the people she knew were dead. Lyudmila stood up and dusted the snow off herself. Just then, a voice, an achingly familiar voice she hadn’t heard for years came from behind her.

 

“We had some fun here, didn’t we?”

 

Lyudmila froze in her stance. How could this even be possible? She was dead. She remembered the day she died. Was someone playing a trick on her? That must’ve been what was happening. She wasn’t stupid enought to believe in miracles.

 

“Aren’t you going to turn around?” she hadn’t realized how much time had passed before the voice addressed her again.

 

“Are you.. are you who I think you are?” she spoke slowly. Uncertain.

 

“Turn around and see for yourself.”

 

Letting out a shaky breath, Lyudmila glanced back for a second before putting her head in her hands. Fuck. Fuck, the person looked exactly like her. Another deep breath and she turned around completely.

 

There she was. Kallista Kaines. Standing right in front of her, a spiky mask in her hand. Her hair was shorter and looked a bit more tired than before, but otherwise it seemed like she hadn’t aged a day since the last time Lyudmila saw her.

 

“Hey.” The hacker cracked a small smile.

 

Lyudmila began to walk slowly towards her, still in slight disbelief that she was actually seeing her friend there. Standing only a few inches from her, Lyudmila took off her own mask. She wanted to see her without any obstructions. Fuck.. fuck it  _ really _ was her. She reached out her hand towards Kallista’s shoulder, but quickly retracted it.

 

“Is.. is it really you?”

 

“Who else could it be?”

 

“Wouldn’t be the first time I see one of you, when there’s really no one there.”

 

“It’s me, Lyuda.” The woman reached out to put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. That was all the confirmation Lyudmila needed and she pulled her friend in for a tight embrace.

 

“I thought you were dead.” She whispered. “Where have you.. why didn’t you tell me?”

 

“That’s.. a very long story.” Kallista sighed. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

 

“You look exactly the same..” Lyudmila said, pulling away, her hands remaining on the other one’s shoulders.

 

“And you look..”

 

“Old.” She interrupted her with a chocked up laugh. “I know.”

 

“I was going to say you look good too.” The hacker chuckled. “The gray suits you. Very distinguished.”

 

Lyudmila shook her head and ran a hand thought her silvery locks. “Isn’t that just a nicer word for old?” she laughed again. She wanted to ask so many questions. What really happened on that mission? Where had she been all this time? But for now she decided to settle for only one. 

“So, why did you contact me? After all these years of silence?”

 

“I know about the job in Juarez. Don’t go there.”

 

“How did you..”

 

“How do you think?” the woman quirked an eyebrow. Right – hacker. No doubt she knew about her involvement with recent events in town too. “Talon, Lyuda really? What happened with you?”

 

“I’m not.. I’m not who I used to be anymore.”

 

“None of us are..” Kallista sighed. “That’s why I need you to not take the job.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Let’s just say for now, that there are things that need to be done and I could use your help with them.” Lyudmila was about to ask exactly what she needed help with, when a noise coming from the closest ally caught her attention. “Did you hear that?” apparently Kallista had heard it too.

 

“Yeah..”

 

Just as the two were about to go investigate the noise, a dozen armed men rounded the corner. Immediately Lyudmila recognized their garb and tattoos – Los Gatos Negro. Damn it. One of them yelled something in Spanish and the group slowly started to make their way towards them.

 

“What did he say?”

 

“Something not very nice about “that sniper bitch”.” Kallista chuckled, already putting her mask back on and getting ready to attack. Lyudmila raised her eyebrow looking at her friend.“What? Not gonna let them talk about you like that. Come on.” The devilish smile was obvious in her voice. “Like old times?”

 

“Yeah..” she nodded putting on her mask as well and pulling out the handgun out of its holster. 

“Just like old times.”

 

Kallista took off running, full speed towards the group, flipping around the closes person and grabbing them by the shoulder, activating her gauntlet. The man began to seize, shaking violently, before dropping on the ground unconscious. The hacker turned back for a second, eyeing the distance between her and Lyudmila before disappearing out of sight, a wave of electo-magnetic pulse scattering around her form, making another person, the only omnic, from the group drop down, motionless on the ground.   

 

Unaffected by the pulse, being safely out of range, Lyudmila followed her into the fray. She dodged a couple of bullets, shooting their senders between the eyes, before holstering her gun again. Across from her Kallista reappeared, shocking another man and letting him hit the ground. Just as a third man was aiming at her, Lyudmila caught his by the throat, metal fingers straightening their grip until she heard a crack and he sagged dead.

 

“I had forgotten how nice it is to have someone watch your back.” Kallista chuckled and quickly pulled out her pistol and aiming. The shot rang out inches away from Lyudmila and she heard someone drop on the ground.

 

“Likewise.” She nodded with a slight smile and ran towards the next person, slamming a metal fist hard into their jaw, breaking it. Lyudmila never enjoyed killing much, but right now, in this moment it felt so good to not be fighting side by side with Kallista again. She felt more alive than she had in years.

 

The two managed to make quick work of the Gatos and soon the ground was littered with their motionless bodies – some dead, some simply unconscious. They stood there, amongst the mayhem for a moment while catching their breaths in silence, before Kallista broke it.

 

“I can’t believe you had sex with Morrison.”

 

“What?” Lyudmila made a sharp turn to look at her.

 

“So how was it?”

 

“I.. have absolutely zero clue what you are talking about.”

 

“Ahaa..” the hacker chucked and nodded to the other woman to follow her. “Sure you do.”

 

Lyudmila shook her head with a small laugh of her own, fixed the collar of her jacket and followed her friend into the dark of the alley. Despite the frost and the snow, somehow for the first time, in a long time, she didn’t mind the cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cameo - the lovely Kallista <3

**Author's Note:**

> Mentioned - Some of the BW Crew<3


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